


seeing you

by reptilianraven



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: 5 Things, Glassesless!Michael, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 19:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13371546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reptilianraven/pseuds/reptilianraven
Summary: “Jeremy?” Michael leans forward, narrowing his eyes further.“I am Jeremy,” he nods, less as a clarification and more because his brain is having trouble making words right now that aren’tDude, where are your glasses?“Dude, where are your glasses?” Jeremy says.-5 times Jeremy has no idea what the hell to do when Michael isn't wearing his glasses + 1 time he does.





	seeing you

**Author's Note:**

> for a certain dork who really really really likes glassesless michael. (VERY BELATED) merry chushmuhhh sini sinisterspooks //dabs very fast
> 
> to all who read this, i hope you enjoy !!!

i. 

The first time Jeremy sees Michael with his glasses off, he bashes Michael’s face with a pillow and for a few seconds Jeremy is afraid he’s killed his best friend.

And things were going _so well_. It was a good day. A really good one. It was the first time his parents allowed him to sleepover at Michael’s house. The first time he’d be there for a whole _night_. Jeremy’s been friends with Michael for a few months now and so this was Big. It was Important. Maybe Jeremy was nervous about the whole thing, but he forgets all about it when Michael greets him at the door with a smile, immediately taking his hand and dragging inside, babbling the entire time. 

They end up in the living room and they watch like, three movies in a row, which is the most movies Jeremy’s ever watched in a row. They’re mostly quiet through it all, but it’s a nice quiet. It’s comfortable and warm just like the blanket they’ve huddled into. In the corner of his eye, Jeremy can see Michael watch, focused, leg shaking the entire time, and Jeremy thinks he could get used to this, to hanging out with Michael forever with snacks and movies. It’s a nice thought that has him smiling out of nowhere, but nothing on screen warrants a smile, so he pulls the blanket up to his face and hopes Michael doesn’t notice.

“Do you wanna play Talecraft?” Michael asks after the third movie when Jeremy is rubbing at his eyes. He’s not sleepy, his eyes just ache after staring at a TV for that long. 

“What’s Talecraft?” he asks, and Michael gasps.

Michael takes Jeremy’s hands—which he does a lot, Jeremy likes it— and says “Get ready to have your mind _blown_.”

Talecraft turns out to be a card game where they make stories and stuff depending on the card. Michael walks him through all the different kinds of cards and he takes his turn first, making the weirdest story about a magic red lion and a magic blue salamander and there are drums somewhere too but Michael’s mom calls them down for dinner before Michael can find a way to end it. 

It’s a really good day. Michael’s mom’s food is the best thing in the world and it’s fun eating while she keeps trying to embarrass Michael the entire time. The moment Jeremy finishes, Michael is practically pushing Jeremy back upstairs to his room while Michael’s mom calls out, reminding them not to stay up too late.

They manage to get through three more rounds of Talecraft, Michael starting to take scribbly notes on a sheet of paper when they thought of something really good, when Jeremy is betrayed by a yawn. And then another. He’s tired, but the thought of the day ending makes his stomach go cold. Michael just smiles, tells them they can always play some more next time, and they start to get ready for bed. It’s not so cold now that Jeremy has the words _next time_ in his head. It’s a good day, and there’s gonna be more of them.

Which is when things go south.

Michael goes to brush his teeth while Jeremy arranges pillows on Michael’s bed with what he hopes is skill. Thought. Mastery. The best bedding arrangement the world has ever seen. He’s got one pillow clutched in his hands and he’s thinking contemplatively about balance, or something right as Michael walks out and his glasses are _gone_.

Jeremy yells and catapults the pillow straight into Michael’s face. 

The pillow flops to the floor and Michael blinks, stunned. In the ensuing silence Jeremy thinks he sees the six years he’s lived flash before his eyes. He isn’t impressed.

“What,” Michael says.

“ _Where are your glasses?_ ” Jeremy blurts before the life flashing before his eyes catches up to the past few seconds. “Sorry!”

Thankfully, Michael doesn’t end their friendship right there if his smile is anything to go by. He sits next to Jeremy on the bed. Another good sign. “I took ‘em off, duh. I don’t sleep in them.”

“Oh,” he says. The only time Jeremy’s ever worn goggles was that one time his family went to the beach, and he figures it’d be pretty weird to sleep with something like that on. “That makes sense I guess.”

“Yeah, it does,” Michael tosses the pillow back at Jeremy, startling a laugh out of him. Okay, friendship not over. Crisis averted. “Why’d you hit me with a pillow?”

Jeremy doesn’t really have an answer. There’s a part of his head that irrationally thought Michael would get in trouble or something if he took his glasses off. “I panicked?”

“Why? Do I look weird?” Michael hands come up to his face, slightly distressed.

“No!” Jeremy makes a move to grab Michael’s hands, but stops. Michael just blinks and gives Jeremy his hands anyway. “I just figured it was one of those things you couldn’t take off, y’know? Like Cyclops?”

“I’m not Cyclops,” Michael sighs mournfully. 

“It’s fine. You’re cooler.” He really can’t stand seeing Michael be any kind of upset. “You don’t look weird. Just, uh. Different. S’first time I’ve seen you without them on. It’s different,” he says because it _is_. Not too drastic that Jeremy can’t recognize him, but seeing him without the lenses over his eyes is like learning something new like Talecraft or whatever new animal fact Michael can tell him. 

Michael’s eyes are a really nice shade of brown, Jeremy realizes. He’s always known, but now it’s clearer. 

“You’re sure I don’t look weird? You’re staring,” Michael tells him.

“Oh,” Jeremy looks at his hands patting at the pillow Michael threw back at him, worried that he’s done something wrong for some reason. “Sorry. I’ll get used to it, I guess.”

“You don’t have to get used to it, dummy,” Michael laughs. Sometimes, Jeremy thinks he gets whiplash from how fast he can go to worried to okay just by hearing that laugh. “I don’t take them off too much. Just when I sleep or shower and stuff. It’s fine.”

“Okay,” Jeremy says because it’s just that easy with Michael. “Cool.”

“ _Cool_ ,” Michael repeats, copying Jeremy’s voice. He ducks when Jeremy moves to shove him, laughing as he falls back into Jeremy’s skillfully arranged pillows. It’s that easy.

They talk for a little longer about the movies or about the stories they made, but then Michael’s mom comes in and tells them to go to sleep. She switches off the lights and they both drift off. 

And Jeremy dreams of a magic red lion with clear, bright, brown eyes.

 

ii.

Between the two of them, Jeremy is usually the clumsy one. It’s almost as if his own definition of grace happens to be awkward limbs and a skewed sense of gravity that has him careening into chairs or walls or Michael himself. “It’s like you’re always walking on jello, but it isn’t jello for literally everybody else in the world,” is Michael’s take on the matter. When Jeremy moves, he’s constantly walking the edge of a tiny disaster. When Michael moves, it just makes _sense_.

Jeremy doesn’t think he’s ever seen Michael still. Sitting, Michael jiggles his leg up and down or taps his foot or drums his fingers on the nearest surface. Standing, he rocks back and forth on his heels or does this in place shuffling thing with his feet (“It’s my idle animation, dude.”) Even sleeping, Michael tosses and turns and maybe kicks Jeremy in the gut in the middle of the night. Michael moves like it’s a fundamental characteristic of the universe, and he never gets into accidents. 

So one of the more jarring moments in Jeremy’s life is when they’re both twelve years old on a normal Friday that goes pretty smoothly. Jeremy’s been trying to plan out a cool secret handshake. Michael keeps humming the tune of a song he got stuck in his head. Jeremy fondly watches Michael slide to the beat of the song, shuffling through the halls without a care in the world.

It’s smooth until class ends and Michael dances his way down the steps of the school’s entrance, trips on his shoelaces, falls, and breaks his arm. 

Jeremy can’t remember too much of the details. He remembers seeing the flash of _oh fuck_ on Michael’s face. He remembers the sound of Michael hitting the ground wrong from four steps up. He remembers scrambling for help, but past that, nothing. 

What Jeremy remembers more is the next day where he goes over to Michael’s house. Jeremy’s never broken a bone (and he’s starting to wonder if he’s either invincible or if he just doesn’t have bones, maybe), but he knows it’s gotta suck and that Michael is probably not having a great time. Jeremy buys some snacks and brings his DS and smiles when Mrs. Mell answers the door in the morning, telling Jeremy that Michael’s in the kitchen. 

Michael sits at the dinner table, head ducked down as he stabs at a bowl of cereal Jeremy knows he’s eating dry because he doesn’t like it when cereal gets soggy. He catches a glimpse of a clunky looking cast on Michael’s left arm as he pulls a chair out for himself, settling in. The sound has Michael whipping his head up and—

“Hey, so how’re you—whoa,” Jeremy says, words forgotten completely because Michael is looking, well, squinting at him intensely. 

Michael who is not wearing his glasses.

The last time Jeremy saw his face naked like this was when they were tiny and Jeremy reacted to surprises through projectile attack. Now he’s a lot less inclined to throw anything because it’s not a surprise so much as...odd. Michael is holding a spoon, Michael has ruffled morning hair, Michael has a face that looks a little off because it’s missing his _glasses_.

“Jeremy?” Michael leans forward, narrowing his eyes further. 

“I am Jeremy,” he nods, less as a clarification and more because his brain is having trouble making words right now that aren’t _Dude, where are your glasses?_ “Dude, where are your glasses?” Jeremy says. 

“They broke when I fell,” Michael squints, though Jeremy is pretty sure it’s got nothing to do with his eyesight anymore. “Like my arm.”

“Oh damn, yeah,” _Great going_. He shakes his thoughts away from how clear Michael’s eyes look, how the shape of face looks different without his glasses framing it, how— “How are you doing?”

“Sucky,” Michael stabs at his cereal with a pout, leaving the spoon in the dry hill of breakfast fiber. “The cast is crap. It feels weird. I can’t move in my sleep,” he counts off on his fingers, pauses, looks at the three fingers he’s got up. “I’m pretty sure there’s like a hundred more reasons but that’s all I can remember right now.”

“It’ll get better. I researched about broken arms last night and the first few days are the worst. After that you just get used to it.”

“Aww,” Michael grins. “You researched about broken arms for me?” 

“Yeah, I did, dork,” Jeremy rolls his eyes, ignoring the small wave of warmth in his chest. “Almost like I care about you, or something.”

“My best friend in the whole world—”

“Your _only_ friend in the whole world—”

“Shhh, I’m basking in the love,” Michael snickers, moving his hand to clutch at his chest dramatically, but he knocks over the spoon sticking out of his cereal and catapults it off the table, clattering to the floor. 

Michael blinks, raises four fingers. “I can’t see shit,” he says.

“I’ve got it,” Jeremy snickers, hopping down to fetch the spoon. “When are your glasses gonna be fixed? Or are you just going to be blind and squinting forever?”

“Shut up,” Jeremy turns to see Michael stick out his tongue in the general direction Jeremy is in. “I’m getting totally new ones since I kinda mushed it.”

“Why don’t you wear your contacts?” Jeremy gives the spoon back to Michael and settles back onto the table, letting himself stare at Michael’s face since. Well. It’s not like there’s anything better to do. Michael’s expressions are a little different. Not bad, but still not the usual Michael he’s used to. The expanse of Michael’s face is free from two pieces of glass and some plastic, and it shouldn’t make a difference, but Jeremy can’t help but feel like he’s seeing something new. 

“The day I put something directly on my eyeball is the day I die,” Michael shudders. “And I’ll take everybody down with me.”

“Drama queen,” Jeremy smiles, fond. And for all that Jeremy might just look like a Jeremy shaped blur for Michael, Michael smiles back, the corners of his eyes crinkling. It’s a smile Jeremy’s seen countless time but it’s _different_. It’s making that warmth come back for some reason. 

“So I know you came here to hang out,” Michael says in between crunching cereal. “But I don’t think I’ll be much fun right now because of this thing,” he waves his cast up.

“We can play video games,” Jeremy tells him. He’s never really cared if Michael was fun or not. He always just likes spending time with him. “I can play with one arm too so we’re even. And I can draw something cool on your cast. And we can finally figure out the handshake.”

“Aw hell, dude.” Michael raises his cast again. “No cool handshake.”

“We can just do one hand?” 

“Lame.”

“You’re lame.” Jeremy kicks him under the table. Then he pauses. “We could add a leg thing?”

“Jeremy.” Michael drives his spoon into his bowl. A piece of cereal ricochets out. It hits Jeremy on the cheek. “You’re a genius.” 

“And you’re a safety hazard,” Jeremy tosses the cereal back at Michael’s head, laughing at the resulting squawk.

“Attacking an injured person! Evil!” Michael extends his hand presumably to point at Jeremy for being a criminal, but he knocks the spoon over again. The clatter that rings out is drowned out mostly by Jeremy laughing his ass off.

Michael tries to keep his dignity, tries to keep a frown on his face, but he’s laughing too, dorky and unbidden. 

The warmth is back. It crawls up his arms like goosebumps before settling in his chest. Instead of a blanket, this felt instead like somebody struck a match, lit a candle. Jeremy goes to fetch the spoon, clutches it in his hands and wonders _why, why, why?_

Whether or not it’s the glasses or something else entirely is a question that’s starting to form in Jeremy’s mind, but he doesn’t have the time for it right now. He swats it away to join the candle in his chest. He can deal with that later. Or never.

Now, he tosses the spoon at Michael just to see him screech in indignation. Looks like Jeremy hasn’t grown out of the projectile thing just yet after all.

 

iii.

A few important facts: 

1) Michael probably came out of the womb with an already completely developed affinity for lions. The evidence to support this can be summed up by just vaguely gesturing at him. Tabula rasa can suck it, Michael was born like this. It might actually be a superpower. One time, Jeremy was watching a video about lionesses hunting, idly thought that lions were lazy slacking freeloaders, and then immediately his phone buzzed with an incoming call from Michael. Michael had told him that he had a gut feeling something fishy was going on. It was probably a coincidence, but Jeremy tries his best never to think ill of them ever again.

2) Michael is currently high. The evidence to support this is solid. His eyes are a little red. He’s talking slower. He’s maybe around seventy percent touchier and sixty percent more prone to laughing at anything. He’s flopped over a beanbag, staring at the ceiling like it’s the Sistine chapel and not just a completely normal, bumpy ceiling while Jeremy surfs through Netflix. Also, Jeremy just watched him smoke a bowl like a few minutes ago. He’s high.

3) Jeremy is _not_ currently high. The evidence to support this is as easy as him being sure he has enough mental capacity to tell whether or not he’s stoned, plus the fact that Jeremy is really, really bad at smoking weed. Where Michael breathes in with ease, Jeremy feels the smoke scratch against his throat and coughs most of it out before it can be useful. Maybe practice makes perfect, but here he is at sixteen, still not having mastered the art. He figured once that maybe he could get high via osmosis by just hanging around Michael when he was, but it didn’t work like that. Jeremy is surfing Netflix sober, looking for this afternoon’s entertainment.

4) Jeremy has feelings for Michael. The evidence to support this has been locked away in a box in Jeremy’s head, never to see the light of day, but the fact still stands. When it started or how it started doesn’t matter as much as how Jeremy deals with it: by saying nothing and going on with his days. Michael is his best friend and if it just so happens that sometimes Jeremy feels himself go red when Michael does something dumb or something perfect, well, he'll enjoy the butterflies as they come. Just business as usual. 

But the fact still stands.

All these facts come together when Jeremy finally lands on something that catches his eye. It’s a documentary called The Lion In Your Living Room, and the moment Michael sees it, he grabs ahold of Jeremy’s shoulder, squeezing with urgency, and says “Jeremy, we need to watch that right now.”

Jeremy skims over the description. “It’s not actually about—”

“Jeremy,” Michael leans over to where Jeremy’s seated in his own beanbag. “We need to watch it this instant, it’s important.”

“Dude, it’s not abo—”

“ _Jeremy._ ” Michael takes his face in his hands and Jeremy’s breath catches in his throat. “This documentary. We have to watch it.”

“Okay,” Jeremy says because he’s absolutely weak, heart pounding when Michael grins in reply. “Okay, yeah.”

Jeremy’s gotten a lot of practice at acting totally fine in the face of Michael, everything he is, and the feelings Jeremy’s been slowly growing for him in his chest, so while he feels like something is going to burn him from the inside out, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he shuffles the beanbag closer to Michael, props his laptop up so they can both see, and presses play. 

Literally one minute into the documentary, Michael pokes Jeremy in the cheek.

“Jeremy.”

“Mmm?”

“ _Jeremy_.”

“Yeah?”

“Jeremiah Heere.”

“Michael Mell.”

“Where,” he says. “Are the lions?”

“I was trying to tell you,” Jeremy shoves at Michael, huffing a laugh. “That this documentary was about cats.”

“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me in my life,” Michael groans, leaning into Jeremy. His head falls on Jeremy’s shoulder. 

“Cats are cool, don’t diss them,” and Jeremy let’s himself have good things sometimes. He leans his head against Michael’s, feels Michael’s soft hair against his cheek, feels Michael’s glasses poke into his shoulder. On screen, a cat squeezes itself through a handrail while a cat expert explains the beauty of it all. “Did you hear that? Cats have compressible ribcages.”

“Psshhh, anybody can do that. I can do that.”

“You can...compress your ribcage.”

“Yeah.”

“Michael, you can’t even order a pizza in the state you’re in.”

“The state I’m in, that state you’re in, good ol’ NJ,” he laughs. Jeremy can’t believe he has feelings for this dork. “Heh.”

“Heh,” he echoes. Michael is smiling, nuzzling into Jeremy’s shoulder, and all he can think about is how his chest feels fluttery and warm and tight all at the same time. He kind of wishes he had a compressible ribcage so that at least he could handle the feeling better. So that he could be built for the heart stutters. 

“Yo, you okay dude?” Michael pulls away to look at Jeremy. “I’m sorry I dissed the cats. They’re cool, I guess.”

“I’m fine,” Jeremy laughs. Cats are so, so lucky. “Just. Kinda wish I were high, or something.”

“The world cursed you with shit smoke tolerance,” Michael pats Jeremy’s cheek, honestly looking like he’s about to cry because Jeremy can’t get high. Then he stills, thumb left brushing idly over Jeremy’s skin. “Oh, shit.”

“Huh?” Jeremy blinks. He’s missing something here because Michael pulls away, grinning as he pats around the floor.

“I’m an idiot I can’t believe this.”

“What?” When he returns to Jeremy’s side, he’s got the pipe back in his hand and a lighter in the other.

“I can’t believe we never tried shotgunning,” Michael says while Jeremy tries not to choke on air because wait _what_. “Makes things easier, sometimes, especially for when you have a tough time smoking. Helps you get used to it. But like, the magic goes down by seventy percent, so you probably won’t get high but hey, it’s still something.”

Jeremy’s got a surface value knowledge of what shotgunning is and his mind catches on the breathing into another person’s mouth deal, which is kind of what the whole thing is _about_ but he never thought that one of the mouths involved will be his own. With the other mouth being—Michael.

Michael who he’s totally zoned out on. 

“Hey,” Michael looks at Jeremy like how he looks at Jeremy whenever he needed a backup story to tell his dad or an extra pen because he lost his own; earnest. Ready to help. Nervous, yes, but on board as long as Jeremy gives the go signal. “We don’t have to.” 

“No!” Jeremy winces. Softer and hopefully less panicked, he says, “Yes! I mean. I’m—game. Super game.” 

“Nice,” Michael says. “I’m pretty sure you know how this works so I guess I’ll just—y’know. Yeah.” There’s a part of Jeremy that’s put a little bit at ease at the fact that maybe, Michael is a little bit nervous about this too. His leg is bouncing up and down and he’s fidgeting with the lighter. Michael meets his eyes once, and Jeremy doesn’t know what he sees, but it makes him turn away sharply, getting to work. 

Jeremy sets his laptop aside while Michael lights up and inhales. He sets the pipe down somewhere and scoots closer, placing a hand on Jeremy’s face.

“Don’t move,” he tells Jeremy, leans in—close, so close, just a bit further and Michael’s lips would brush against his—and he breathes out.

Jeremy maybe only gets to inhale a fraction of what Michael gives him and it’s not even his fault because Michael starts _laughing_ halfway through. 

“What just happened,” Jeremy blinks. He can’t help but smile at Michael lose his shit next to him.

“Sorry, sorry, holy fuck, I’m so sorry it’s just—” and he takes his glasses off to rub at his eyes. “You had this face.”

“I had this _what_?” he felt a flush creep onto his skin. It’s half insecurity and half holy shit, Michael’s glasses are off.

Jeremy figures it’s kind of like how he can see the stars every night and mostly think nothing of it. But then some nights, just because one thing is different for some reason, he’ll look out his window and remember why he stuck shitty glow in the dark stars in random corners of his room. It’s kind of like that with Michael. Jeremy sees Michael everyday and he knows, but it’s at times like this, with just one thing different, that he remembers. 

Michael’s glasses are off and he keeps on laughing and he’s probably the most gorgeous thing Jeremy’s seen in his life.

“It wasn’t a bad face, oh god, don’t kill me,” Michael snickers. There’s a stinging in his gut, Jeremy thinks, but it’s too far away to really get caught up on. What’s closer is Michael, still making fun of him. “You were just super serious and concentrated.”

“Fuck you, dude,” Jeremy huffs, flipping Michael off.

“Noooooo, no, no, no,” Michael takes Jeremy’s hand, He doesn’t even do anything with it, he just holds it. “It was cute.”

“Shut up, _you’re_ cute.” Jeremy says. It takes a second for him to realize the burning need to throw himself out the window.

“You’re—” Michael’s voice sounds a little choked. “You’re cuter.” 

Jeremy hopes the heat he feels in his face isn’t too visible. “Whatever, shotgunning officially failed.”

“We can try again?” Michael goes back to leaning on Jeremy’s shoulder. 

“Nah, it’s fine,” Jeremy sets his laptop back onto his lap. “We aren’t done with the lions in our living room anyway.”

“The _fake_ lions.”

“Cats, Michael. They’re called cats.”

Michael laughs again, but doesn’t offer up any argument. He just hums when Jeremy leans against him too, and they watch the cats on screen defy the laws of physics. 

In his non-compressible chest, his heart pounds away, a mess of tingles, like pop rocks in his soul and—and something else. Something that feels heavy, but he can ignore it. Jeremy’s been at this for a while. Business as usual.

Between them, Michael hasn’t let go of Jeremy’s hand. To the sound of cat experts explaining the impossibilities of felines, Michael’s thumb traces along Jeremy’s knuckles, and Jeremy wonders if this is one of those impossible things too.

 

iv. 

Mid junior year, Michael’s car gives up. It doesn’t straight up _die_ , much to everybody’s eternal frustration, but it’s enough to have the thing out of commission for a few days while it gets fixed up. This basically just means Jeremy’s usual ride to school is gone for a bit.

Which is a little bit of a bummer. Ever since Michael got his license, the morning drive has always just been their thing. Days weren’t as daunting when Jeremy started it laughing in the passenger seat of Michael’s shitty car. Even when things at school started to lighten up after the both of them actually managed to make more friends, nothing felt more at home than watching Michael’s head bop to the radio, Michael’s fingers drum against the steering wheel, Michael singing a warbled lyric here and there, flipping Jeremy off when he starts to heckle him. 

Jeremy can handle walking. He just didn’t like handling the concept of days without that drive.

Thankfully, he’s saved from walking since Jake offers him a ride which is always fun. Jake plays [Carly Rae’s latest incredible release](https://open.spotify.com/track/73TuAKyAld030tWLT64w6W) and they commiserate over how the world is inherently flawed since nobody’s been talking about it. By the time they get to school and part ways for classes, Jeremy’s in a pretty content mood, bummer aside. 

Classes drone by in the way they do. Jenna is caught texting in the one class Jeremy shares with her but still manages gives a flawlessly correct answer to their teacher’s question. In chemistry, Jeremy sees Christine dramatically thunk her head onto the table the moment their teacher pulls up a third video to show the class and Jeremy tries very hard to stifle a laugh. Jeremy thinks his soul ascends to another dimension in trig as a pure self defense mechanism, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary there.

Despite the different start, everything is still normal. It’s this false sense of security he’s been lulled into which probably contributes to him tripping over nothing and walking straight into the table where the gang is already at when he sees Michael later at lunch.

“Man down!” Rich hollers from where he’s seated while Jeremy scrambles to right himself. “Another tragic casualty to Michael ‘Hot Stuff’ Mell.”

“Yo, you okay, dude?” Michael ‘Hot Stu—goddamn it Rich—reaches out to steady Jeremy but Jeremy waves him off. His shin stings from where it made contact with the table but that isn’t really something Jeremy can pay attention to. 

Not when Michael in all his glassesless glory looks at him, eyebrows scrunched in concern.

“I’m fine,” Jeremy says, blinking at Michael’s face. A few seconds pass of Jeremy just _looking_ and it dawns on him that maybe he's not fine. "I'm totally fine."

"Don't worry, I stared too." Chloe tells him, idly twirling her pen. "Michael, I'd tell you to stick with the contacts, because honestly, you're gorgeous, but you also might be a danger to the public if Jeremy and the other four students I've seen trip over themselves looking at you are anything to go by."

"Guys, come on," Michael groans. "The joke got old like after the first hundred times."

"Uh," Jeremy turns to the rest of the table. "What joke?"

"It's not a joke," Jake says very, very solemnly. It's almost like he's about to tell everybody a dog just died. "Michael, you're a beautiful man."

Michael slumps over the table face first like a sad slug.

"I can’t believe we didn't notice," says Brooke.

"I can’t believe _you_ guys didn't notice," says Christine. "Michael's always had a nice face."

Michael raises his hand to pull his hood over his head.

"Well, everybody else is noticing," says Jenna, scrolling through her phone. "Congratulations, Michael. Majority of the student body thinks you're a snack."

Michael makes a garbled noise into the table. 

"Are—" Jeremy lays a hand on Michael's back. "Are you okay?"

"Only maybe not totally," Michael turns to look at Jeremy. Jeremy would think that maybe, he'd get used to seeing Michael without his glasses, but each time it happens just seems to be a good, mocking example of otherwise. "They won't ease up on this weird joke and people keep staring at me. I don't know what everybody's deal is."

Jeremy pats Michael on the back and it occurs to him that Michael is blind on so many levels. It also occurs to him that thought of other people staring at Michael is something that makes his head feel a little sour. 

"It's not a joke,” Jeremy says. And because he’s an idiot, he follows it up with, “You’re hot.”

“What?” Michael blinks at Jeremy.

“I mean—” Jeremy chokes out, trying very hard to resist the urge to slam his face into the table. “I mean everybody thinks you’re hot. Because you are. You’re hot without your glasses. But you’re still hot with them on too—Which—” Talking right now feels a lot like somebody just handed Jeremy a live fish and now it’s thrashing in his grasp while he screams. “—is just a fact, you being hot, but the whole glasses thing makes it, uh, noticeable. Or something. Or, uh—”

“Uh,” Michael says.

The rest of the conversation at the table actually hushed throughout Jeremy’s bumbling soliloquy of despair, and he refuses to look at any of them. He just makes the arguably worst decision of keeping his eyes on Michael who doesn’t have his glasses on and is looking at Jeremy like he grew a second head.

"Never mind.” Jeremy’s dignity past saving. He can only move on. Deep breath. The art of letting go. “Where are your glasses anyway? Did they break again?"

"No," Michael says, and his brows scrunch up. His eyes narrow. Not in the way that he's straining to see what's in front of him, but still enough to make Jeremy's breath catch. "They're at home. But I went for a checkup last weekend and doc told me to try contacts out _just once_ which meant Nanay hounded me to try it _just for one day_."

Jeremy remembers that Michael once said he'd take everybody down with him should he have to wear contacts. Of all the prophecies that could've been fulfilled, it really had to be that one, huh.

"That sucks," he says, trying hard to maintain eye contact while Michael burns a hole into Jeremy's brain with his gaze. "Quick question, why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like—" Jeremy scrambles for a word that isn't the word _intense_. "Like you're _smoldering_."

"Oh, wow," he thinks he hears Chloe say. He can't be too sure. Jeremy's too concentrated on the table and how his forehead is magnetized by it. His _soul_ wants desperately for the two to collide.

"My eyes feel weird," Michael explains, blissfully unaware. "There's a thing literally on my eyeball, Jeremy. This is the _worst_."

Jeremy can't exactly lift the supposed curse of Michael’s hotness, so he just runs his hand up and down Michael's back in an attempt to soothe him. 

The rest of the day goes by with Jeremy mostly on edge, wondering about how Michael's dealing with the stares and the attention. When he's walking with Michael through the halls after class, he finds himself glaring at anybody who looked at Michael for more than a few seconds, which basically meant glaring at everybody who passed by. 

They hitch a ride with Brooke to Michael's place, planning on staying a few hours before walking back home. The moment they get there, Michael bounds for his room and Jeremy has the pleasure of making fake gagging noises as Michael takes his contacts out and threatens to kick Jeremy out of his house. In his blind, squinting glory, he gropes around his desk until his fingers find his glasses, and Michael sighs in relief.

"Oh god," Michael slips his glasses back on. "Much better."

"There he is," Jeremy says from where he's been sitting on the edge of Michael's bed.

"Never going to school without these things again," Michael flops backwards onto his bed, bouncing Jeremy a little bit. "One day of everybody staring at me was one day too many."

Count on Jeremy to have his insecurity crawl up on him out of nowhere. "Sorry," he says. "I kinda stared a bit earlier too."

"Nah, don't apologize man. I—” Michael pauses. “I never mind when it's you."

"Wanna watch a movie or something?" Jeremy says instead of letting himself get washed away by the thing in his chest that longs for words like that to mean something more.

"Yeah, that'd be cool," Michael sits up. He looks away for a moment, but by the time he turns to face Jeremy, he’s looks fine. 

And so it's just the two of them, Michael's laptop, and a movie. Everybody can stare as much as they want, but Jeremy finds deep satisfaction in knowing that only he can get this.

It's his fault really, for wanting more.

 

v.

For a long time, Jeremy didn’t really get all the hype about prom. Back when he was a sophomore, he was vaguely aware of upperclassmen fussing about it, just like how he’s vaguely aware of frogs that croak in the night. He figured it was just one night where everybody dressed up and shuffled awkwardly to music while silently hoping somebody spikes the punch. Nothing special, really.

But in the past few weeks, Jeremy starts to see the point. Rich asks him for help with a ridiculously convoluted promposal plan for Jake, one that involves various post its, rose petals, and a sign that ends with Jeremy having glitter still inexplicably on his hands after days. Jenna drags him out to the mall where she basically holds him at verbal gunpoint to give opinions on shoes she tries out and if it would look good with her dress. He’d complain, but he’s watched enough America’s Next Top Model to actually have some solid input. Plus, she helps him get a tie. Brooke keeps sending him selfies where she’s trying out different hairdos and he heart reacts on every single one of them.

On the day itself, Michael picks him up because he doesn’t have a date either and they’re not each _other’s_ date or anything. It’s just solidarity. Friendly solidarity.

Jeremy repeats this to himself in his head the moment he sees Michael because, for a few seconds, he’s breathless. Michael stands in his living room, gesturing awkwardly to Jeremy’s dad talking about god knows what. Jeremy doesn’t know, he doesn’t have the capability to even _try_ to know when Michael is standing there in a black tux with his hair slicked back shooting a nervous smile to him over his dad’s shoulder. 

Turns out his dad wants pictures before they leave, and Jeremy wants to grab the camera and throw it out the window because Michael isn’t his _date_ but turns out, Michael doesn’t mind. 

“Why not?” Michael says, his hand going for his hair before he remembers that it’d probably be waste to mess it up before he even arrived. He gestures to Jeremy instead, a broad wave to just, all of him. “I mean, you look awesome so. Y’know.”

“You look great too.”

“Hell fuckin’ yeah I do.”

“Whoops, nevermind, you look like a dork.”

“No take backsies,” Michael smiles slyly, weakly punching Jeremy n the shoulder. “Now let your dad take some goddamn pictures.”

The pictures are ridiculous. Michael dabs in the first one and the following pictures are blurs of Jeremy trying to stop another one from happening. Dad manages to wrangle them still for one kind of decent one where they’re standing and still but Michael has a peace sign up. It’s still a really good picture, but looking at it makes Jeremy’s heart ache. 

More pictures happen the moment they meet the others at the foyer of the venue, and the night kicks off. Jeremy spends a lot of it just at the sidelines, but he’s happy. Seeing Brooke and Jenna dance, seeing Christine and Rich talk about how shiny the floors are, seeing his friends have fun. He gets it now. It’s the people that makes prom fun, and Jeremy’s lucky to have some really great friends to make the night something to remember.

A song plays, all electric energy and flashing lights thrumming through the room. Jeremy lets Jake take him by the shoulders and push him to the dancefloor, near everybody else. Dancing never came easy to Jeremy. He’s all odd angles and awkward flailing, but looking around at his friends not giving a damn, gets him moving.

It’s Michael who slides up next to him, bumping his hip into Jeremy’s side. He doesn’t have any time to bump back in retaliation because Michael takes his hands, pulling him along. The beat thrums through Jeremy’s bones right along with his heart, stuttering whenever he can hear Michael’s laughs past the music or see his eyes filled with mirth looking right at him. 

Then the song changes.

“Shucks,” Michael says. The upbeat tunes have tapered off, something softer taking its place. “Fun time is over.”

Jeremy can see a little bit of the crowd dispersing or pairing off to start swaying to the beats of the music. The mood in the air changes from electric energy to syrup-slow and heavy. From the corner of his eye, he sees Brooke loop her arms around Chloe’s neck. He sees Rich and Jake at the side, taking a break from dancing, sharing smiles and words Jeremy can’t hear. 

“Time for the love birds to get their moment,” Michael snorts, glancing at those around them. He quirks his head to the side, off the dancefloor. “Let’s go? Unless you wanna slow dance, that is.”

And Jeremy knows it’s a joke—Michael has a grin on his face and his words are light and a little too fast—but the warmth in Jeremy’s chest wants to come pouring out.

The only thing that does come out is the waver of his voice saying one word: “Sure.”

“What.” The smile slips off of Michael’s face, but his expression isn’t unkind or upset. It’s just blank, on the edge of becoming something else.

“D-Dance, I mean. To this. With you.” Jeremy says because honestly, what the hell. Why not?

The worst the could happen is that Michael says no. He’d laugh, maybe shove Jeremy lightly. They’d joke about it for the days to follow while Jeremy’s heart twinges in his chest, something he’s already used to anyway. It’d be normal, and he’d be fine. They’d all be fine. The best thing that could happen is that Michael shrugs and says yes. He’d probably babble the entire time, making light of the situation, and Jeremy would get a blissful few minutes where he could pretend. Just a few minutes where he could give himself something that wasn’t real, but real enough to maybe quell the ache he feels when he sees Michael smile. 

So he holds his hand out to Michael. “Only if you want to,” Jeremy tacks on, just in case. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Then Michael’s expression falters. From blank, it goes to something that Jeremy can only describe as _crushed_. His mouth is open, as if he wants to say something, but decides against it. His eyes are distraught. Betrayed. 

And Jeremy has no idea what’s going on.

“I have to go,” Michael says, walking past Jeremy without a second glance.

The warmth in Jeremy’s chest goes cold.

For a moment, all Jeremy can do is stand there, at the edge of the dance floor, to wonder just where he went wrong. Nothing adds up. Michael is his best friend, he wouldn’t be upset over something like this. Unless somehow, maybe he knew what it meant. Maybe Michael figured it out, that Jeremy is lovestruck and grasping at all he can. But he wouldn’t be angry, would he? The insecurity in Jeremy’s mind can yell all it wants, but Jeremy knows Michael, he knows he wouldn’t react like this unless Jeremy is missing something and he _is_ but he doesn’t know what and—

“You know,” says Chloe, now suddenly next to him, sipping at a glass of punch. Jeremy belatedly realizes that the slow song is over, a thumping beat trickling back in. “Michael’s the one who needs glasses, but you’re pretty blind too.”

“What?” Jeremy blinks back to the present, pulling himself from his thoughts. “What does that mean?”

Chloe takes another sip and raises an eyebrow, “You have a brain, Jeremy.”

“I—yes. I do have that,” he says slowly. Sometimes he isn’t sure about that, but that’s besides the point. “I don’t understand what you’re saying, though.”

She downs the rest of her punch like it’s a shot. “I’m only doing this because I don’t want this night to turn bad for anybody and at the rate it’s going, it looks like you two look like you need a little push,” Chloe hands Jeremy the glass, looking him square in the eye. “I want you to think really, really hard about Michael and how he acts around you.”

“Wh—” 

“Really hard,” she says. “How he looks at you, how he talks to you, how he reacts to shit you do.”

“I don’t—” he says mostly on instinct, but he shuts himself up. He tries to think instead of shying away from the thoughts he locks away because it hurts a little to think to think about what he can’t have. “I—” Jeremy thinks of Michael, of how he smiles but also how that smile wavers sometimes. He thinks of Michael’s eyes but also how he turns away, looks elsewhere, anywhere that isn’t Jeremy. He thinks of what just happened, Michael’s expression shutting off, almost betrayed. He thinks of what this could all mean—and Jeremy’s chest is bursting with hope, bright and tingling with possibilities—but then he thinks of what he _said_ , and the chill comes back. And the pieces slot into place.

“I’m an idiot,” Jeremy says. 

“No you aren’t,” Chloe pats him on the shoulder. “But you will be if you don’t find Michael right now and set everything straight.”

“Thank you, Chloe, I—I’ve gotta go.”

“That you do,” she pats him on the shoulder. “Last I saw, he was headed for the bathroom. Good luck.”

Jeremy practically skids out of the event hall, narrowly avoiding collision with several people on the way, detouring for just a few seconds to leave Chloe’s glass in the nearest ornamental plant. He makes his way to the hallway, walking until he finds the nearest bathroom, and there, hunched over one of the fancy looking sinks, head down, is Michael. 

“Michael,” he says, but Michael doesn’t move.

“Hey, Jer,” Michael’s voice is strained. Jeremy sees Michael’s hand go up to rub at his face. “I’m okay. I’ll be back out in a bit, I just need a few minutes.”

“You’re not okay. I said something wrong—”

“Don’t,” Michael lifts his head up. He doesn’t turn to Jeremy, instead making eye contact through the mirror. There’s a smile on his face, but gaze is the same one that looked at Jeremy earlier, the same one that looked like his world crumbled a bit. “It’s whatever.”

“Michael, just listen, I—

“No, Jeremy, it’s. If you’re going to apologize, I don’t want to hear it. If anything, it should be me. I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to give me a pity dance. I—I’m sorry you found out, I don’t know how, but I’m sorry. I—”

“ _Michael,_ ” Jeremy strides forward, tired of hearing this.

“Jeremy,” and Michael whirls around to face him. “I have feelings for you and I’ve had them for a long time now. That’s what this is, not anything else, and I know you don’t and that’s fine, that’s okay, but I never wanted—” He barks out a laugh that sounds like it’s being pulled from his throat. “—never wanted to make you feel like you had to give me anything. I just—”

As if running out of steam, Michael’s words just stop. He takes a breath, reaches up to take his glasses off and rub at his eyes. When he looks at Jeremy, bright eyes sad but understanding still, Jeremy’s heart breaks.

But it doesn’t have to.

Jeremy had planned a few words in his hurried escape to look for Michael, but he feels those words dry up. He doesn’t know what to say, what to do, but he finds himself stepping forward anyway.

“I think I started falling for you when we were twelve,” Michael looks at him, eyes wide. The sadness is draining out, replaced by shock and something that might be light. “I started then I never stopped. I just kept going. You make it really easy, y’know. With your smiles and your words and—” Jeremy brings his hand up to Michael’s face, but he stops. He had no idea he was holding his breath until Michael’s hand closes around his wrist, urging Jeremy to make it the rest of the way, placing his palm on Michael’s cheek. 

“It wasn’t a pity dance I was offering. I really wanted to dance. I wanted to have something, even if it wasn’t actually real.” Jeremy feels lightheaded because Michael’s smiling now. Every single thing that’s built up after years is here, but for once, it doesn’t press against his ribs. It’s spilling out of him, word after word. “But it turns out I haven’t been seeing some things. It turns out maybe, uh, if you want, it can be real.”

“So, uh,” Jeremy says, breath hitching when he feels Michael’s other hand go for his waist, moving to the small of his back. “What do you say?”

Michael doesn’t say a thing. He just pulls Jeremy in close. When their lips meet, Jeremy swears the world melts away around them, leaving only the two of them behind with the warmth that’s been brimming for years, an answer, loud and clear. 

 

\+ vi. 

Something fishy is happening. Jeremy is usually pretty bad at picking up on subtle hints, something Michael endlessly teases him for, but Jeremy still has eyes and a couple of brain cells and he _knows._

He knows Michael is up to something.

Monday, Michael took his glasses off and placed them on his head. There it stayed for the entire lunch period as he talked and ate as usual. Tuesday, Jeremy notices that Michael’s slips his glasses off a lot more often to wipe the lenses clean even though Jeremy can see they don’t really need cleaning at all. Wednesday and Michael’s taken to taking off his glasses while talking, gesturing with it in his hands and not on his face where it belongs. Thursday, and his glasses were seen dangling from the collar of his hoodie throughout the day.

Why Michael is doing this doesn’t click for Jeremy until Friday. It’s not like Michael’s wearing his contacts again and whenever he takes off his glasses, he gets into a few mishaps thanks to his eyesight, so he’s not benefiting from this at all. The only ones benefiting from Michael’s sudden constant need to take his glasses off is everybody else with functioning eyes, but ever since Jeremy and Michael started dating, people at least have the decency not to ogle Michael while Jeremy’s around. So the only one _really_ benefitting from this is Jeremy.

Jeremy thinks his boyfriend is gorgeous, sue him. This is true all the time, but a Michael without his glasses is a Michael that’s just that little bit more distracting than usual. Halfway through the week, Jeremy’s hands itched to put Michael’s glasses back _on_ just so Jeremy could actually concentrate on being a functional human being instead of a brain dead swooning husk of who he once was. 

Michael isn’t insane enough to drive without his glasses, so Jeremy catches a break after school on the drive back to his place. The moment he puts the car into park though, his glasses are off again as he continues talking, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s beautiful and frustrating and Jeremy honestly can’t take it anymore.

In the seconds they take to get out of Michael’s car and walk to Jeremy’s front door, Jeremy thinks, _fuck it_.

Maybe it’s the slight, smug look on Michael’s face. Maybe it’s the fact that sometimes, Jeremy forgets that he’s this lucky, that he’s actually dating Michael, that going for what he wants is an option and not just a sad thought to be locked away. Maybe it’s the glasses, or maybe that’s an excuse. Whatever the reason, it’s got Jeremy’s mind clear in what he has to do.

Jeremy practically drags Michael the rest of the way into the house, slams the door shut, pushes him against it.

“Wh—” Michael starts, and Jeremy doesn’t let him finish. He’s grabs Michael by the front of his hoodie and presses his lips against his.

Jeremy sees Michael’s eyes flutter shut, feels Michael’s hands go for his shoulders. Still riding on his burst of confidence, Jeremy licks at Michael’s lips, goes in deeper when Michael’s mouth parts with a gasp. The soft moan Michael makes, muffled by the kiss, by Jeremy sliding his tongue against his, is music to Jeremy’s ears. 

Jeremy pulls back and relishes in the sight in front of him; Michael with his face flushed, eyes half-lidded and dazed, blinking open to look at Jeremy. 

“Jer—”

“Not yet done,” Jeremy says, pulling Michael to the couch. He pushes him down, and before Jeremy can chicken out, straddles Michael and settles into his lap.

“Holy shit,” Michael says. And that’s all he gets to say because Jeremy takes Michael’s stupid terrible beautiful face into his hands and starts kissing him again.

Kissing Michael is one of Jeremy’s new favorite things to do. It’s definitely up there along with crawling into bed after a long day and milkshakes. Kissing Michael feels like that; a relief and a treat at the same time. Every quick peck and lingering press left Jeremy wanting more, but he always reeled himself back. 

At least until now.

One of Michael’s hands finds its way into Jeremy’s hair while the other snakes around his waist, pulling Jeremy close. Michael’s body a warm, solid weight against him feels incredible. It’s so much and absolutely perfect at the same time and it’s all Michael. Michael’s mouth yielding to his own, the little strangled noise Michael makes when Jeremy sucks on his tongue, Michael’s fingers threading through his hair, Michael, Michael, _Michael_.

“So, uh,” Michael says, voice awed, when Jeremy pulls away again. He leans his head against Michael’s shoulder to catch his breath. “That was—wow.”

“Thanks,” Jeremy smiles. He leans up to press a kiss to Michael’s neck, humming when the grip on his waist twitches. 

“I should be thanking you, you just kissed my brains out.” Michael’s hand moves from his waist, slowly dragging up and down his side, turning Jeremy’s brain into warm, content mush. Then it stills. “ _And_ you proved this theory I’ve had for a bit.”

“What?” The change in Michael’s tone went from thoroughly kissed out to teasing. Jeremy lifts his head and sees Michael grinning at him like he’s just been told something beautiful like “hey, Michael, do you want to eat the rest of my—” or “Let’s go to the zoo.”

“You have a thing,” Michael says, gleefully. “You have a thing for when I’m not wearing my glasses.”

“I—” Jeremy feels his face go hot as the entire week plays through his head. Michael taking his glasses off and immediately glancing at Jeremy, Michael taking his glasses off only when Jeremy was around, Michael _taking his glasses off and_ — “It’s—It’s not a _thing_. I do not have a thing!” 

“I’m sorry, it’s too late, you’ve already proved it,” Michael bites his lip, probably trying to stop himself from laughing. “You dug your own grave—”

“It’s _not_ —”

“Wait, wait, wait, I just gotta—” Michael’s fishes glasses out of his hoodie pocket and slips them onto his face. Maintaining eye contact the entire time, Michael takes them off with a flourish, looking at Jeremy through his lashes. “Hey, _Jeremy_ ,” he says, voice a low purr as he waggles an eyebrow. “I can’t see shit.”

“I’m breaking up with you,” Jeremy groans. He puts his face into his hands and moves off of Michael’s lap settling next to him instead as Michael can’t keep his laughter in anymore. “I don’t have a thing, you’re just—”

“I’m just what?” Michael’s snickering tapers off, his smug smile remaining. 

“Nope, not saying it. As if you don’t already know.” He says petulantly. The heat in Jeremy’s face starts to dissipate. It calms down and settles back into his chest, the constant warmth of home he feels when he’s with Michael.

“Hey, I’m just teasing,” Michael takes Jeremy’s wrist, pulls it down gently so he can look at Jeremy. Jeremy wishes he could hold off for longer, but Michael’s eyes are warm and fond. Glasses or not, Jeremy’s always been weak for them. “I think it’s cute.”

“You think horseshoe crabs are cute.”

“They’re helmets with too many legs, of course they’re cute,” he says, brushing his thumb against Jeremy’s pulse point. “I mean, I also think the glasses thing is pretty weird, like, I can’t be that different without them on but, hey, if you’re into it, I still have my contacts.”

“You hate those things,” Jeremy tells him. He figures that he can just tell Michael the truth anyway, since nothing can be more embarrassing than what’s already happened. “And it’s not the glasses, doofus. It’s you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means I love you, jerk,” Jeremy huffs, turning to Michael. Michael who’s looking at him, still, eyes a little wide and. 

Oh. 

That’s the first time he’s said that. It’s not that he’s been holding off, but now that he’s said it, Jeremy just wants to say it again and again. Honesty thrums in his veins and he needs Michael to know. 

“I—” Jeremy reaches his hand up, taking Michael’s loose grip around his wrist with him, to cup Michael’s face. “I love you,” he says. Jeremy uses his other hand to lift Michael’s glasses up to the top of his head. “I still love you.” Then he brings the glasses back down, slightly askew on Michael’s expression, looking at Jeremy in a way that makes him feel like the warmth in his chest will come bleeding out like morning light. “Still love you,” he says. 

“You are the worst,” Michael says, voice sounding a little choked. “I was supposed to make fun of your anti-glasses kink and you make me have emotions.”

Jeremy snorts, but starts to pull his hand away. Something buzzes softly under his skin and he wonders if he said too much too soon. 

But then Michael’s grip on his wrist tightens. 

“I love you too,” Michael’s says, turning to press a kiss to Jeremy’s knuckles, another one to the back of his hand. Another one to silence the doubt. Years ago, a little flame was lit in his chest. Now, he feels like he’s drowning light. 

“Michael—”

“I love you even with your weird glasses thing.”

Jeremy smacks Michael in the face. “Moment ruined.”

“Yeah, okay, I deserved that,” he laughs softly, leaning in. “But you love me.”

“I _guess_.”

“You dooooo,” Michael leans in. His eyes are bright and his smile is soft and Jeremy can’t believe he gets to have this. 

“I do,” he says. “Now are going to kiss me or what?”

“Bossy,” Michael says, but he bridges the rest of the distance anyway. Jeremy lets his eyes shut, lets Michael kiss him, soft and sweet. 

After years of friendship, it’s easy to get used to some things, but Jeremy doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this. He doesn’t think he ever wants to. This is one surprise he’ll gladly take every time it comes around.

**Author's Note:**

> [Talecraft](http://komikasi.com/main/talecraft-cards/) is a real card game and it’s so much fun. [The Lion in Your Living Room](http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x4llqhu) is also real, on netflix, and So Good. [ Trouble In The Streets by BC Unidos and Carly Rae Jepsen](https://open.spotify.com/track/73TuAKyAld030tWLT64w6W) is the REALEST, was released nov 10, and is So Fucking Good. jake and jeremy are valid for wondering where the goddamn hype is. 
> 
> oh? it turns out im not the only one who wrote glassesless michael today?? coincidence!!! you should TOTALLY check out [for your eyes only](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13126779) by DivineProjectZero.
> 
> im [actualbird](http://www.actualbird.tumblr.com) on tumblr. i hope you had fun :Dc


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